The Adept Book 3 The Templar Treasure by Katherine Kurtz, Deborah Turner Harris Page A
Authors: Katherine Kurtz, Deborah Turner Harris
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important, I can always go into Edinburgh tomorrow and take a poke about in the arts section of the university library.”
Adam turned the second reproduction to a better angle in the light. It showed a slightly younger version of the same face surmounted by a painted wreath in the shape of an oval. Of the two versions, the second was less polished in terms of technique, but more human in its limning of the features.
“No, these are sufficient, I think,” he murmured, sitting back in his chair as Humphrey came bearing a silver tray with three ruby-filled glasses shaped like crystal thistles. “Neither shows what I was really looking for. And the Melville portrait, which I’ve already seen, is far too young. Ah, thank you, Humphrey,” he added, as the butler offered the tray first to Peregrine, then to Adam, himself taking the third and tucking the tray under his other arm as Adam raised his glass.
“May I offer a toast?” Adam asked Peregrine.
“Please do.”
“To Sir Matthew Fraser, then—the giver of the gift,” he said with a smile, “and to Peregrine, whose artistry undoubtedly deserved it, and whose generosity prompted him to share it.”
“And don’t forget Janet, Lady Fraser, whose beauty inspired the art,” Peregrine added gallantly.
“Hear, hear,” Adam agreed. “To everyone who had a hand in bringing us this excellent wine—even Humphrey, who poured it. Slainte mhor! To your very good health, gentlemen!”
All three of them sipped it appraisingly, contented expressions telling of their pleasure, after which Humphrey glanced at Adam and raised his glass in query.
“If there’s nothing further, sir, I’ll leave you and Mr. Lovat to your work. And may I add, sir, to your very good hunting?”
“You may, indeed, Humphrey. Thank you,” Adam said.
They drank to that; and when Humphrey had gone, leaving the bottle on the tray at Adam’s elbow, Peregrine glanced at his mentor expectantly, taking another sip of his port.
“So, what’s Dundee’s connection with this missing Seal?” the young artist asked. “And is it true that the Seal realized enough in pawn to finance the entire Peasants’ Revolt?”
Adam raised an eyebrow in surprise. “Does Nathan connect the Seal with the Peasants’ Revolt?”
“He certainly does.” Peregrine tapped the manila envelope. “That’s what part of this document is about. Didn’t Noel tell you?”
Adam shook his head. “I don’t think he’d had a chance to really read any of it in depth yet. Tell me more.”
“Well. Your friend Nathan talks about a theory that secret survivors of the Templar dissolution had formed an underground of some kind, and were the driving force behind the Peasants’ Revolt of 1381. There’s evidence to suggest that the revolt was not at all spontaneous, and that many aspects were well planned in advance.”
“What makes him say that?” Adam asked, setting his glass aside and drawing the manila envelope toward him.
“Apparently, a number of things. As just one example, many of the rebels wore livery, almost a uniform of sorts—a white hooded shawl with a red tassel. In one town alone—Beverly, I think it was—he mentions five hundred men wearing these. Think about what that alone would involve, even today. And six centuries ago, when all cloth had to be made from scratch, first spinning the yarn, then weaving the cloth, then assembling the things, sewing them by hand. And he points out the interesting similarity between these ‘hooded shawls’ and the white mantles with red crosses worn by the Templars.”
Adam had been opening the manila envelope as Peregrine spoke, and now he held up a hand for the artist to pause a moment while he pulled out the printout and began to leaf through it. He was reasonably familiar with the general background of the Peasants’ Revolt. In June of 1381, overburdened by high taxes and unjust labor restrictions, the peasantry of England had risen up against their
Adam turned the second reproduction to a better angle in the light. It showed a slightly younger version of the same face surmounted by a painted wreath in the shape of an oval. Of the two versions, the second was less polished in terms of technique, but more human in its limning of the features.
“No, these are sufficient, I think,” he murmured, sitting back in his chair as Humphrey came bearing a silver tray with three ruby-filled glasses shaped like crystal thistles. “Neither shows what I was really looking for. And the Melville portrait, which I’ve already seen, is far too young. Ah, thank you, Humphrey,” he added, as the butler offered the tray first to Peregrine, then to Adam, himself taking the third and tucking the tray under his other arm as Adam raised his glass.
“May I offer a toast?” Adam asked Peregrine.
“Please do.”
“To Sir Matthew Fraser, then—the giver of the gift,” he said with a smile, “and to Peregrine, whose artistry undoubtedly deserved it, and whose generosity prompted him to share it.”
“And don’t forget Janet, Lady Fraser, whose beauty inspired the art,” Peregrine added gallantly.
“Hear, hear,” Adam agreed. “To everyone who had a hand in bringing us this excellent wine—even Humphrey, who poured it. Slainte mhor! To your very good health, gentlemen!”
All three of them sipped it appraisingly, contented expressions telling of their pleasure, after which Humphrey glanced at Adam and raised his glass in query.
“If there’s nothing further, sir, I’ll leave you and Mr. Lovat to your work. And may I add, sir, to your very good hunting?”
“You may, indeed, Humphrey. Thank you,” Adam said.
They drank to that; and when Humphrey had gone, leaving the bottle on the tray at Adam’s elbow, Peregrine glanced at his mentor expectantly, taking another sip of his port.
“So, what’s Dundee’s connection with this missing Seal?” the young artist asked. “And is it true that the Seal realized enough in pawn to finance the entire Peasants’ Revolt?”
Adam raised an eyebrow in surprise. “Does Nathan connect the Seal with the Peasants’ Revolt?”
“He certainly does.” Peregrine tapped the manila envelope. “That’s what part of this document is about. Didn’t Noel tell you?”
Adam shook his head. “I don’t think he’d had a chance to really read any of it in depth yet. Tell me more.”
“Well. Your friend Nathan talks about a theory that secret survivors of the Templar dissolution had formed an underground of some kind, and were the driving force behind the Peasants’ Revolt of 1381. There’s evidence to suggest that the revolt was not at all spontaneous, and that many aspects were well planned in advance.”
“What makes him say that?” Adam asked, setting his glass aside and drawing the manila envelope toward him.
“Apparently, a number of things. As just one example, many of the rebels wore livery, almost a uniform of sorts—a white hooded shawl with a red tassel. In one town alone—Beverly, I think it was—he mentions five hundred men wearing these. Think about what that alone would involve, even today. And six centuries ago, when all cloth had to be made from scratch, first spinning the yarn, then weaving the cloth, then assembling the things, sewing them by hand. And he points out the interesting similarity between these ‘hooded shawls’ and the white mantles with red crosses worn by the Templars.”
Adam had been opening the manila envelope as Peregrine spoke, and now he held up a hand for the artist to pause a moment while he pulled out the printout and began to leaf through it. He was reasonably familiar with the general background of the Peasants’ Revolt. In June of 1381, overburdened by high taxes and unjust labor restrictions, the peasantry of England had risen up against their
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